Indie Darling Saturday

You know when you hit that point that your level of cuteness is post-club, post-hardcore, and inevitably indie? This for me usually happens at brunch on the West Side, when I look around at all the chambray shirts and Frye boots and start feigning for something that reminds me I am indenial about not being a hipster. I care so much I don't care. My only defense is to start eating my feelings of awkwardness, since I can no longer feel edgy by corporate dayjob standards.

Saturday I went to Treat out in Humboldt Park, and carb-overloaded (I don't have insurance so eating allows me to medicate when I'm not getting bought drinks by a guy). Seriously, my two loves combined: India and brunch. Really? Yes, it's that good. I don't know how they put masala and all those freaky spices without destroying the privileged perk of being a white hipster on the weekend.

The only way to counterbalance my feelings of anxiety about my place in the underground culture is to do something totally random with a boy of my dreams and remember that I'm on the path to greatness in other ways. In my researching, I found some abandoned hospital that sounded like a great place to impress someone with my creepiness; and then some Epcot-like themed restaurant that is actually authentically ethnic. Klas Restaurant used to be Al Capone's personal brothel and it has ghosts. Yeah, sure I'll drink from some giant steins staring into the eyes of a dreamboat while large cadavers of bears and medieval looking fish stare back at me. This is like a scene out of Blue Valentine before Ryan Gosling turns all crazy and Michelle turns into a total bitch. But we all know they just end up in that space hotel passed out drunk and totally into that hot douche we run into from college.

Too good to be true.